


In the Name of Gold

by parttimefemmefatale (writingramblr)



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Western, Brothels, F/M, Gun Violence, Lady of the Evening Rose, Outlaw Master, Porn With Plot, Rape/Non-con Elements, Romance, Rose uses Belle as her name, Violence, brunette billie piper is my undoing, sheriff Eight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-12
Updated: 2014-09-18
Packaged: 2018-02-17 01:38:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2292152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingramblr/pseuds/parttimefemmefatale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rose Tyler has returned in disguise, to seek vengeance on the man who killed her family, the famed bloodthirsty outlaw known as the Master, who has a past connection with the new Sheriff in Gallifrey, the small town that blossomed when gold was discovered in its soil.</p><p> </p><p>[basically a Western AU that no one asked for, with slightly more porn that plot, but just barely]<br/>[my original brainstorm: http://timeladyspacepirateutteroutcast.tumblr.com/post/86453956400/ ]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Heavily influenced by these photosets and gifs of a brunette Billie Piper:  
> http://timeladyspacepirateutteroutcast.tumblr.com/post/88974640416
> 
> Also the fact i had this as one of my ficlets on my to do list. I hadn't planned on having so much smut it in, but then again, brothels...  
> and yes i know Harriet Jones as the Madame is crazy...but eh.  
> Hope ya'll enjoy, and frankly there need to be more Western AU's out there.

The whistle of the train rang in her ears, and she fought the urge to flinch away, to flee, and to hide from what she knew to only be the ghost of pursuit. She looked different now. Golden locks turned to dark chocolate, and once tanned skin now pale as fresh milk.

Rose Tyler left the town of Gallifrey once, escaped, and now she’d returned. What she was after was sanctuary, what from, and who, were another matter altogether. The town had once been just a blip on the map, a stop on the way to the bigger village of Arcadia, and then further down, the sprawling San Francisco.

She wasn’t sure who had been responsible for the death of her parents, so long ago, just a scant year after her new brother had been born, but she had her suspicions. The carriage they’d been in, returning from a dinner which Rose had stayed behind at, had overturned on a clear street, but then burst into flames, and no one had survived.

Whispers of sabotage, planted explosives and other horrid things had flown nearly as a wildfire in the town, and Rose had run. But the fact was, the carriage hadn’t actually been alone on the road, and she knew the other occupant had to be who had killed them.

She’d taken the first train out of town, and never planned to look back. She’d had only the clothes on her back, and a small bag of food and money packed from her home.

The town had reclaimed her family’s estate by now surely, but she didn’t care. She wasn’t the same scared lost little girl anymore. She was not going by the same name, and she was prepared to do anything to survive now.

A cool weight rested in the bottom of her carpet bag, a gleaming gun, loaded and ready ensured her peace of mind. No longer Rose Tyler, now she called herself Belle, and she’d come with a place to stay already prepared, along with guaranteed employment.

The gold rush had brought about many changes to Gallifrey, the least of which was the growth of the brothel industry, and Belle was to be the main attraction, the crown jewel.

She took one glance around the train station and had her fill. It wouldn’t do to stare impatiently at her watch as she awaited her transport, but she could always pretend she was admiring the watch itself, and not the ticking hands studded with small crystals.

It was a gold plated pocket watch, her first true treasure of her new life, and one she never let leave her person.

The whistle sounded again, and Rose was about to give the bench outside the station some attention when she heard an approaching carriage, and her name being called. Well, her new one.

“Miss Belle?”

She smiled a practiced expression, one that always made the male population melt, and the driver was no exception. He had sandy brown hair and a clean shaven face, betraying his youth,

“Good afternoon Miss Belle. Please allow me to take your bags,”

He reached for it, but Rose clicked her tongue at him,

“Nonsense. I can manage one small duffel. Besides, I’m in no hurry.”

The boy ducked his head and blushed,

“Well Miss, begging your pardon but we should hurry all the same. There’s a new sheriff in town, and word is, he’s on the lookout for any excuse to shut Madam Jones’ wonderful establishment down.”

Rose’s expression faltered for a moment, before she regained control. This was news to her, not a word had been mentioned in Harriet’s last letter to her.

“Very well then. But I can carry my bag just the same.”

The boy, who introduced himself as Rory, amidst some slight stammering, once he’d caught a glimpse of her bare leg after helping her into the carriage, kept up a decent commentary as they drove to the Paradise of Flydale.

The new sheriff had been called in to help lower the rising crime due to gold thieves and cattle rustlers. Rose smiled grimly to herself as she realized how lucky she was not to have any land or property of her own to have to worry about enforcing. Not that the Tyler’s had ever had much, but just the same, she didn’t fancy getting her boots dusty and going against a bunch of petty criminals.


	2. Chapter 2

Sheriff John Smith swallowed thickly as he reviewed the latest news report from the outskirts of Gallifrey. It seemed that even with his strictly enforced guidelines for gold diggers, and the added protection of new deputies, three homes had suffered break ins and extraordinary damage had been done.

He sighed, and his hand twitched, almost brushing over the drawer which he knew full well held a half empty bottle of whiskey.

It wouldn’t do to start drinking on an empty stomach. Well, not counting the two cups of strong bitter coffee he’d already had.

A hand raked through his long chestnut curls, and he wasn’t surprised to find them damp with sweat already, even with the gentle breeze blowing through the open windows of the building.

Summer was clinging onto the town with desperate sticky fingers, and there was no relief in sight. It was mid September, and still the nights only became bearable for an hour or two. The hours when most decent men would be home with their families, fast asleep in bed.

John had no family, as yet, and therefore took no such pleasure in the comforts of home. He worked late, and sometimes fell asleep still in the jail. They had cots in the cells for a reason, even if it wasn’t so the sheriff could avoid going out and seeking rest in a decent hotel for money he didn’t have.

Being sheriff didn’t pay nearly as well as people thought.

The jail was empty, and he had no leads on the rustlers and gold thieves.

It truly was enough to drive a man to drink. The loud rattle of a carriage passing by startled him from his thoughts, and he glanced out the window to see an elegantly decorated vehicle headed towards Paradise of Flyedale. Most just called it the Paradise.

John wrinkled his brow, and shook his head. He knew that there was increasing pressure on him, mostly from the clergy, to go in and forcibly shut down and eject Harriet Jones and her girls. But frankly, he wasn’t sure what the harm was. Maybe it was terribly blasphemous of him. Maybe he envied the men who could afford a night, or a few hours, with the goddesses among women who worked there.

It was just a brothel, but from the few positive stories he’d heard of the place, it lived up to its name. It would be a waste of his effort, and certainly would make him more enemies than friends if he buckled to the pressure and closed it down.

When he caught a gold thief, and reclaimed the stolen treasure for the bank and its other owners, he might just ask for a cut, as a reward. He knew exactly where he’d spend it.

Not at the Mott Hotel, not in the Noble saloon, but at the Paradise.

***

Her new quarters were perfect. Rose Tyler smiled as Belle kept a straight face, despite the lavish silks of the bedding, and the dark velvet drapery that defined the room.

A large four poster bed dwarfed all other furniture, and was clearly meant to be the showpiece, after all, what else would it be for?

Wooden cabinets polished so well they shined under the candlelight flank the bed, and an elegant folded screen hide a closet nearly stuffed to the brim with beautiful but scandalously cut dresses.

“Welcome to your new home Belle.”

A soft voice startled her from her thoughts, and she turned to find the owner of the great establishment. Harriet Jones, once a great beauty, now an aged woman with a kind weathered face, brown hair streaked with grey and sharp eyes that seemed to pierce right through her.

“Hello Madam Jones, thank you very much. It’s wonderful.”

Harriet took her hand, and pumped it twice, before dropping it and sliding past Rose to gesture around the room,

“Whenever you don’t have a client, you may feel free to do as you please, whether it is catching up on your sleep, reading a book you’ve collected from the library downstairs, I’m sure you saw that, and of course, the kitchen is always open, for we have no set dining times.”

Rose cocked a brow at her,

“Sounds bit too good to be true if you ask me.”

Harriet smiled,

“Did I mention you get paid in gold? It’s split 60/40 of course, for how else could I keep you in such luxury? But all that you earn will be kept safe, until you require use of it. You need only ask. If it is not something I can facilitate in this establishment, then you will be given the money to find it yourself.”

Rose didn’t really like that split, but she wasn’t about to argue with her Madam. At least, not yet.

“Do I have any clients lined up?”

Harriet shook her head, but grinned at her,

“No. But word travels fast in this town. By tomorrow I’d be willing to bet you’ll be booked till sundown, and then some.”

Rose licked her lips and looked over at the vanity table beside the changing screen,

“Are cosmetics provided? If not, I brought my own.”

Harriet waved a hand,

“Of course. But I would ask that you be cautious. Some clients may not want the paint. Others may require extra. So if you have a set routine, forget it. Keep to your natural beauty for now.”

Rose snorted,

“Okay. Men constantly astound me.”

Harriet nodded,

“You and me both, Belle. Now, I’ll leave to let you get settled. Come down for some lunch or dinner whenever you wish. I look forward to doing business with you.”

The slight limp that hampered Harriet’s walk piqued Rose’s curiosity, but she bit her tongue. Now was not the time for questions. It was time to wash up, and explore her new home. Harriet had been right about her noticing the library. Rose had always had a fondness for books, and who was to say Belle couldn’t also?


	3. Chapter 3

The shining town of the seven counties. That was what they called Gallifrey. Word was there was a new sheriff in town. A man by the name of John Smith. The outlaw known only as the Master sneered at the thought, and spat into the dirt.

That name was like a ghost from his past, someone watching him and always breathing down his neck. The reason he’d become an outlaw.

He’d done some things a bit worse than simply killing or robbing, and John had been the one to collect the evidence and attempted to bring him to justice. But he’d escaped, and he’d been running ever since.

He and his posse of crooks were nearly a day’s ride from being able to even catch a glimpse of the second sun that was fabled to shine in Gallifrey. It was in actuality the glass face of the clock tower in the square, reflecting the one and only sun’s rays, but it amused the people to call it that.

All that gold that had been discovered and mined near Gallifrey had brought about its unusual wealth, but soon enough, with all the stealing the Master’s men had been up to, he hoped to drain the town dry.

Veins of shimmering yellow ore were the only thing that the Master lived for. Well, at least until news of the Paradise reached his ears.

“A brothel that specializes in providing for gold diggers?”

The Master would have torn a rock studded in bullion from the earth just for that. He’d not been with a beautiful woman, much less one who pretended to want him, in nearly a decade. Back when he’d been just a poor farm boy, no girl had given him a second look. If they had, he might not have been the man he was now.

He was of unusual looks, with calculating brown eyes, light blond hair that looked like he’d gone grey prematurely, and then stayed out in the sun, and his smile was said to chill even the desert air. The sound of drums was said to follow him, with death always in their wake.

He grimaced, before lifting his hat off of his sweat slicked hair for a momentary breath of dry desert air, and then kicked the sides of his horse, spurring it on to run faster.

“We’ll be on the outskirts by tomorrow, and then we’ll find us some gold! How’s that sound boys?”

A resounding whoop lifted from the posse behind him, and the Master smiled. Perhaps he would have a bit of fun before he decimated the town and murdered his old enemy.

After all, what was one lump of gold for a taste of Paradise?

Considering he owned nearly all the cattle in the surrounding lands, by virtue of stealing no doubt, but still his, he had more wealth than the un-mined gold of Gallifrey could even fathom.

Unless the mines led all the way to the center of the Earth.

***

The Master.

John shuddered at the name. The legendary outlaw had been rumored to have pillaged and left the nearest town to Gallifrey, Arcadia, in smoking ruins after he’d been denied safe haven.

Not that an outlaw really needed a safe place to stay when he was surrounded by thugs and crooks who had sworn allegiance to him. He just liked to have an excuse to demolish a city.

John did not want to think about what would happen if the Master actually came to Gallifrey. He’d met the man once, before the madness, before the desert had turned a normal everyday decent man into a savage. Before he’d been sent out on his own to sheriff a town far from home.

They’d both come from the same place, the coast. They’d probably even gone to school together, but John couldn’t remember that far back. He’d tried to arrest the Master and failed. Then he’d started drinking when not on duty.

This time, the hand that twitched towards the drawer of whiskey was not stopped.

It burned like fire on the way down his throat, and he winced and coughed, but after a few more sips, John couldn’t remember why he’d put off having any.

He didn’t often wear his hat, for he considered his belt and gun and badge of much more import, and he might have only admitted it at the point of a gun, but he thought it made his hair look too flat.

He kicked back in his chair, and twirled the now empty bottle between his now stilled hands. Five days since his arrival at his post, and still no criminals filled the jail cells, but he’d made enough from his deputies finding one herd of rustled cattle, deep in a canyon that had not been the proper place for them, after returning them to their proper owners, they’d been given a handful of gold dust for each of the cattle returned.

It was the proper amount to get himself a nice meal at the saloon, and even have some leftover for a shave from the barbers, but he couldn’t help wandering towards the Paradise, if only in his mind.

Would it be enough to buy an hour? Two? How much did each girl charge? Did it matter if he wasn’t married, or if he was a law enforcement officer?

Did they have a price list?

He snorted to himself, and made to take another sip of whiskey, before remembering that the bottle was empty.

It would have hit the floor and smashed, but he didn’t have the strength, so it slipped back down into the drawer with an audible _thunk_.

That brought him back to semi consciousness, and he groaned. Night had long fallen, and either he needed to find a jail cell to settle down for bed, or decide how he was going to spend his earned gold.

He sighed, and rubbed a hand over his face, feeling the scratch and scrub of the several days’ worth of stubble. Why have it shaved when it would simply return in another week?

After straightening his belt, and tightening it around his waist, he got to his feet, rather unusually steady for the sheer amount of liquor he’d consumed, and headed for the door.

The Paradise it was. Maybe. If they didn’t turn him away from laughing at the small amount of dust in the pouch clenched in his fist.


	4. Chapter 4

Rose patted her face dry with the cool damp cloth from her vanity. It’d only been a handful of days, but she was settling in well, and enjoying the company she kept.

She’d just said goodbye to a nice boy who’d seen the light at the end of the tunnel, and not in the glowing gold in a mine sense. He’d been so close to taking her, like he’d claimed he wanted, when he realized he was in love with his fiancée after all. He’d asked for her, for Belle, because she resembled his fiancée so much.

Rose wasn’t sure if she was insulted or proud. She also wondered how much work it would be to reclaim her golden locks. But then she wouldn’t exactly be unique. No one in the Paradise had hair just like hers. Like a waterfall of waves richer and smoother than fresh brewed coffee. She’d been right to think of it as the Spanish treat.

Astrid had soft golden hair, always up in a bun like the French maid she pretended to be. Then there was Jenny, who wore her blonde hair in a tight ponytail, usually used as a handle of sorts by her clients. Rose might have blushed at the idea if she’d been of any lesser experience. She didn’t like any of her clients to touch her hair, and she made it known right off the bat. The rest of the girls in the Paradise had varied looks, and Rose was almost envious of Harriet’s seeming ability to pluck the most beautiful women from all the surrounding counties to have the best assortment. But then again, she supposed that was why the Paradise was successful as it was.

Amelia was the fiery redhead, whose long legs and sly green eyes would cut a man to the bone, even as she promised them forever. Clara was the wide eyed innocent, with long brown hair that hid most of her face from the rest of the world, and only when she spoke did one think she was more than what she seemed. Martha was the dark skinned, dark haired and quick witted exotic flower, who made many offhand promises of one day running her own business, and Rose was among those who believed her. After all, a woman could do anything a man could do better, if she put her mind to it.

For Rose, she’d kept her rules simple, not wanting to come off as too snobbish, or too picky for the crown jewel, or even the new girl, as she still considered herself; no kissing, no touching of hair, no hitting. The same couldn’t be said of her to them. Sometimes they even asked for more hitting. She’d never understand it, but she supposed it was simply something they were too afraid to ask of their housewives or girlfriends.

When she heard her name being called, she was quick to finish drying herself, and snagged the nearest silk wrap, lilac colored, hanging on the screen before stepping outside her room.

She still had on her lace under things from before, and the walk down the stairs almost felt cool against her mostly bare skin.

Harriet stood in the foyer, conversing with a handsome man, shorter than most, but still tall enough to impose, and it wasn’t until Rose’s eyes left his face that she realized who he must be. In the dim candlelight, the gleam of his badge was unmistakable.

“Sheriff?”

Harriet turned to her with a tight smile,

“Yes Belle. Our dear Sheriff has finally come to pay us a visit. I informed him you were available, and being such an outstanding and brave citizen as well as member of the law, he is eligible for our discounted rate. He’ll be staying the night. Please, feel free to walk him up to your room.”

Rose wasn’t about to argue with the Madam in front of a client, especially the specific one, but she’d never heard of a discount before. The mere idea was ludicrous. The Paradise charged what it did for a reason. No one questioned it, and no exceptions were made.

The way the Sheriff swayed against Rose’s arm was telling. She didn’t even need to lean close to smell the whiskey on his breath and with a quick glance at Harriet before continuing up the stairs, she hoped he would fall asleep before he decided he wanted anything for his money.

The pouch that the Madam held looked as if it could hold barely enough for half an hour much less the whole night, and Rose endeavored to have a word with her before the Sheriff left the premises.

Rose helped the Sheriff inside her room, and onto the bed, before leaving him to lock the door, and begin to undo her wrap.

“Tell me Sheriff, how’d you get so lucky? Special discount, all night with me, and you even started drinking without me.”

A strangled groan escaped the man’s lips, and Rose took a better look at him, he looked as if he might pass out at any moment, or throw up, and she did not want to clean up sick from her bed sheets, though they’d possibly seen worse.

She hastened to his side with the small barrel she used to dispose of trash in, and held it up to him.

“Easy now. Don’t speak until you’re ready.”


	5. Chapter 5

The amount of kindness that the stunning girl, whom he had managed to wrangle into his company, possessed, came as a complete shock.

He’d expected her to stand away, let him embarrass himself, and then possibly kick him out the door again.

When he’d arrived at the Paradise and found the first floor nearly empty, he’d been half afraid he was about to be ambushed, or the place had closed for the night. An impossible thought to be sure, but all the same it lingered in his mind.

“Good evening sheriff, how can I help you?”

The tone of voice sounded rather like one might approach a particularly disgusting cow pie lingering on the bottom of one’s shoe. John grimaced and held out the pouch of gold dust towards the woman he knew to be the Madam of the establishment.

“I was wondering what the going rate for a night with one of your girls was, and if this is enough.”

The woman, better known as Harriet Jones, was in no gaming mood, and she plucked the bag from his hand without so much as a word.

She opened it and glared inside, and he half thought it might burst into flames, but it remained still.

“This isn’t even enough for an hour. I should throw you out on your ears. I would, if you were any other drunken fool.”

Before John could protest, she’d waved a hand at him,

“Don’t ask me how I can tell. I work around drunken fools, but at least they can afford my services. Lucky for you, I happen to be in a bit of a situation, and could use the help of a law officer such as yourself. There are other guests here who are not as welcome as they think they are.”

Her words were confusing him, but something sinister lingered and pierced through the haze of the alcoholic bliss numbing his mind.

“You need my help?”

She smiled tightly at him,

“Yes. That is the only reason I will make an exception for you. You can stay with Belle. She’s our newest girl, and she’ll take good care of you. But know this, her rules are very strict. Do not touch her hair, do not attempt to kiss her, and do not leave a mark on her. Understand?”

John was about to remark that he’d need to arrest himself if he ever laid a hand on a woman in a violent manner, but before he could, the Madam had turned to look up the stairs and called for the girl in question.

A vision in light purple silk danced down the stairs and stopped right in front of him, leaving him at a loss for words.

She was fresh faced, and as such, looked much younger than she surely was, and her pale skin seemed to glow in the candle light. Either she never ventured out into the sunshine, or she was of a nationality that was not inclined to darken. He knew it was ungentlemanly of him to stare, for there was so much skin bared to him he half wondered if she ever became warm. Her long hair framed her face in auburn waves that were a few shades darker than the whiskey he’d eagerly consumed, but her eyes, bright and searching were the precise color of the drink.

Pink lips parted and she greeted him, but he was still far too lost inside his own mind to begin forming words. Dimly he registered the sound of her name falling from Harriet’s lips, as well as a smart remark about him, but he still couldn’t find his voice.

She took his arm and led him up the stairs, and he managed to shift his weight enough so that he was not leaning on her too heavily, lest they both topple over and he embarrass himself any further.

Once inside her room, she pushed him towards her bed, and he felt a wave of nausea sweep through him. He groaned and prayed for strength. Now was not the time for his stomach to accept the reality that he’d gone too long without eating and substituted whiskey when he’d really needed water.

She said something that he might have laughed at if he’d not been fighting the urge to empty his stomach onto the nearest clear surface.

Then she was beside him, gentle hands touching his arm, and an empty bucket being held under his chin.

“Do you want something to eat? Would that help settle things?”

He did laugh at that, finally finding his voice.

“How did you know? Get a lot of drunk idiots in here?”

He chanced a look at her, willing himself not to pass out under her concerned gaze, and he noted again how utterly lovely she was. It was heartbreaking. A girl like her being forced to spend her night with him. She deserved every penny that her Madam demanded for her.

“You have no idea.”

A smile graced her mouth, and he could have sworn he caught a glimpse of pink tongue peeking between white teeth.

He felt light headed again and leaned away from her, his arms moving to clutch the bucket.

“Maybe you’d better go. Leave me be, I promise I won’t ask you for anything.”

Belle. That was her name.

Belle frowned at him, wrinkles forming between the two perfect arches that framed her eyes,

“I’ll be right back, alright? Don’t do anything stupid, like wander out onto the patio and fall to the street.”

He nodded, and hated himself for watching her go. Hips swayed beneath silk that clung to her like a second skin, leading down to bare legs and ankles that he suddenly wanted to touch, just to see if her skin was as soft as it looked.

She was every inch the ideal girl.

***

Rose left the Sheriff behind, fully prepared to return and find he’d puked out his guts and passed out, but after visiting the kitchens to obtain a glass of ice cold milk and a plate of still warm biscuits, she was surprised to see him still conscious, but looking a tad less green around the gills.

“I hope you’re hungry, I don’t think I can eat all of this myself. Besides, then I wouldn’t look like this.”

She grinned at him, and once she’d set down the dishes, she cocked a hip and let her wrap fall open, revealing her black lace clad form. The lace was really just for show, it barely hid the dark peaks of her nipples, much less the swells of her breasts. The scrap that covered her sex was slightly more modest, but still hinted at the dark triangle of hair that almost matched what graced her head.

He averted his eyes, but not fast enough. She smirked.

He’d decided he was going to pretend to be good, pretend he wasn’t spending the night in a brothel, and maybe even pretend he could conserve her virtue, at least from him.

“Here. Eat.”

She didn’t mean to put any suggestion in her voice, but he finally looked up at her, and his eyes lingered on her breasts as he reached for the plate. She licked her lips, and was delighted when he echoed the movement, after having taken the first bite of flaky baked good.

“Well?”

She perched delicately on the bed beside him, and took a small sip of milk before handing it to him.

“It’s wonderful. The best thing I’ve ever eaten.”

He spoke honestly, and she could see the truth in his eyes. For a lawman, he was incredibly easy to read.

“Good. Then I hope you’re feeling more up to some…activity.”

She winked at him before taking the plate and glass and setting them aside safely on her vanity table.

He scrambled backwards on her bed, acting almost afraid.

“Ah, no. I would prefer just to get to sleep.”

She’d completely discarded the wrap by then, and climbed towards him, trapping him against the headboard.

“No, I don’t think so. You can’t sleep like that, fully dressed? You’ll suffocate.”

She smirked at him, as he flushed, looking down at himself and seeming to realize the truth of her words.

“Okay.”

“Let me help you with that…Sheriff.”

She didn’t see it, but he winced.

“Please call me John.”

She’d worked her fingers underneath the seam of his vest and was shoving it back off his shoulders when she realized what he’d said.

“John? How apt. Lovely to meet you John. Call me Belle. Or did you miss that the first time?”

She was simply teasing him, for he’d had no real occasion to address her by name, but she delighted at the reddening of his cheeks again at her remark. His shirt beneath the vest was nearly soaked in sweat, and she’d have been repelled if she’d not already taken a shine to him. He was quite attractive, and the muscles that flexed involuntarily as she moved around him drew her gaze.

She found herself wanting to undress him completely, and not just for his own comfort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Run on sentences AHoy


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here comes the smut!

Belle’s hands burned trails of fire over his already heated skin, and John fidgeted underneath her. She was practically straddling him atop the coverlet to her bed, and he was fighting to keep from accidentally touching her. Considering she was clad in only the most scant bits of black lace fabric, he wasn’t sure how long he could avoid doing so. But he also needed to stop her from reaching for his pants when she finished tugging his shirt off.

He’d managed to shed his boots and socks while she’d been gone fetching him some dinner. He still couldn’t believe she’d done that for him. The food had been wondrous, and he almost imagined he heard his stomach crying out in joy. He couldn’t remember the last time he ate anything of substance, besides a handful of peanuts from a bag that had been brought along with the gold dust.

“Please…Belle.”

His voice was strained, and he hated how he sounded, begging her, a girl just trying to do her job, when he desperately needed her not to.

“We haven’t even started anything yet, and already you’re saying ‘Please?’ Oh I’ll keep you.”

Her smile was wicked, and held promises of many wondrous things, the least of which was more pale skin bared to his view, and more touches that would possibly damn him to hell.

She must have lost her patience with him, for she didn’t bother with any of the buttons of his shirt, she merely tugged at the fabric and wrenched it free. It came un-tucked from his pants and he sucked in a breath at the feel.

Her hands danced over his chest, fingers tracing muscles and faint scars, and he thought he might actually pass out again, this time from lack of air to breathe as he watched her drink in the sight of him.

“You’re really something. How is it you’re unmarried?”

The quirk of her lips led him to believe she was likely to draw her own conclusions, and when her hands wandered further south, he gasped.

“Stop please. Let me.”

Broken and halting sentences were all he could manage, and he looked away from her, hands moving to stop her own, and he hated to remove her touch from his skin, but he had to draw a line somewhere. He wasn’t there for sex. He merely needed rest.

It wasn’t until he realized he’d gripped her a bit too hard that he registered the slap.

“Why are you so against this? You paid for it. Now sit still.”

He slowly nodded, giving in, and lifted a hand to cup his flaming cheek.

She sighed,

“Okay.”

She slid down from straddling his waist and began pulling at his belt, and he spoke up,

“It unfastens there. Mind the gun.”

He added weakly, and she rolled her eyes at him.

“Relax. This isn’t my first rodeo. You think I’ve never handled a weapon before?”

He didn’t know how much of the sentence was an innuendo and how much was factual, but before he could blink she’d set the entire thing aside and her clever hands had resumed divesting his trousers.

His hand shifted from cupping his cheek to covering his mouth, preventing any manner of embarrassing noises from escaping him.

Her fingernails scraped the sides of his hips on the way to dragging off his pants, and he fought the urge to close his eyes.

He was more than hard after all that she had done, and he didn’t want to be subject to any criticism or jokes about it.

When a hot hand closed around his throbbing erection, he lowered both hands to brace himself on the sheets.

“What?”  


She’d managed to get him completely naked and somewhere along the way get rid of her underwear, leaving her quite equally bare.

His eyes were probably as big as the dinner plate still holding a few biscuits as he looked at her, not even noticing how dangerously close her smile was from his skin.

“Like I said. Weapons are always welcome in my hands.”

A twist of her fingers had him thrusting mindlessly up against her hand, and he stifled a whimper.

***

The new Sheriff, this John Smith, was deliciously sensitive. Rose grinned to herself as she slithered down to lie almost at his feet, still on the bed, her knees bent and feet lazily twirling in the air.

It was so much fun to see a man come undone from just the right touches and a few well placed kisses.

John was so wound up, the alcohol had cleared faded and left him a mess of throbbing need, but she loved it.

He’d never been with a whore before, clearly, he was blinding clawing at her sheets, and would have doubtlessly tried to fist her hair and push her closer if he’d not been aware of her rules.

She took her time with him, edging him twice before allowing him to come, taking him deep in her throat, and purring around the tip.

Sweat glistened on his chest, and his breathing was clearly uneven, as his heart rate slowed down, she finally moved back up to his side.

Her fingers drew circles on his skin, dancing through the spare chest hairs and avoiding the urge to flick at his nipples. That would be something to try later.

He swallowed and her eyes fixed on his Adams apple as it bobbed.

Such a beautiful man, if there had been a market for male whores as much as for women, he’d be filthy rich.

As it was, it turned out the Paradise’s young driver Rory was just that. He mostly worked the closeted clergy, and Rose had been delighted to find out.

She’d also discovered that the source of the rumors about the Sheriff himself cracking down on the Paradise had been the very same angry men who used it.

She wasn’t going to pretend it hadn’t annoyed her, but now that she had John wrapped around her little finger, at least for the night, she could happily enjoy a bit of revenge. The sort that didn’t hurt anyone.

John’s hands were still gripping the sheets, as his breathing returned to normal, and so Rose slipped her own through one, laced their fingers together, and leaned against him, her cheek pressed to his shoulder,

“How was that?”

“It was…nice.”

Rose smirked, turning to plant an open mouthed kiss on his skin,

“Just…nice? Nothing else comes to mind?”

He swallowed before replying,

“Well…I do wonder about you…do you need-do you want…”

Rose bit her lip until she felt it sting,

“Don’t worry about me. Usually I take care of myself. Unless you want to lend a helping hand…”

The hand clasped in hers twitched, and she took that as a yes, moving it slowly over to graze her stomach, letting him hear her breath catch, and then guiding it down between her thighs.

She hadn’t had to fake anything, and still didn’t, she was slick and wet, and surely felt hot to the touch.

When he looked down at her, there was something akin to wonder in his eyes.

“Is this… did I?”

Rose grinned lazily at him,

“Not really one with words are you sheriff? That must be why you’re single. Cause it’s not the weaponry.”

Without any further assistance, he pressed a finger against her clit, aided by her wetness in the movement.

She inhaled sharply, and he looked as smug as a newcomer could.

“Like that?”

She nodded, and pressed his hand further down, moving his thumb in slow circles just over the swollen nub that couldn’t be seen, only felt.

His free hand twitched at his side, and she knew he probably would have kissed her, or stroked her cheek, if they’d been anything else than what they were.

A client and his whore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((happy sexual sunday my lovely readers!))


	7. Chapter 7

John wasn’t prepared to admit it, well, ever, but he’d been a virgin as much as the definition of the word stood. His hand was no substitute for what he’d experienced moments before, and now he wasn’t sure he could ever go back to being alone and content.

Letting Belle use his hand, letting her show him how to coax the same strangled sighs and moans from a woman as she’d done to him, it was like waking up.

He felt her leg muscles flutter around his hand, and she shifted impatiently atop the sheets, as if she needed more, needed to feel him closer.

He was perfectly aware of what happened between a man and a woman, but he’d never heard of this. He’d never known one could rub and press just right, in the right spot to bring about such enjoyment.

John hadn’t even touched her anywhere else, but let her touch him, and now this was what he’d brought about.

A strange sense of pride welled up in him as he felt her clench around his fingers, and the sigh that escaped her lips was a thing of beauty.

He glanced away from her, and was unsurprised to find himself growing hard again. How could he not, having observed what he had? Even if it was expected of her, he didn’t want to rush her, or push her beyond what she had agreed to do.

But Belle clearly had other ideas.

She kept his hand in hers, and slowly, lazily even, climbed atop his thighs to straddle him. He could feel the heat radiating from her core, just mere inches away from his cock.

“Are you okay?”

His voice was a whisper, but he was almost afraid to speak too loud, as if it would shatter the moment.

Belle smiled,

“Of course. You ready?”

He was almost unsure, he’d only thought of taking a woman from atop, but now she was preparing to ride him, like a common horse?

He wanted it desperately.

He nodded, and she grinned, showing him a bit of her tongue again, and he flushed despite himself, remembering how skillful she’d been with it before.

She leaned up on her knees, and pushed down on his shoulders, so that he was propped against the pillows, as she sunk down onto him.

His eyes closed and he leaned his head back, grateful to have the soft cushions to hit instead of the unforgiving wooden headboard.

The groan that left his mouth was inhuman, but so was the way she felt.

Tight and hot and so slick, then she began to move. Her hands still gripped his shoulders, and he guessed she was using them for leverage as she lifted off of him almost completely, before sinking back down again.

Over and over she moved, sometimes clenching her inner walls around him, but all too soon he felt his control lapsing.

Never had he felt anything like it, and he almost never wanted it to end.

It had to, of course, and when it did, when he fell over that abyss into a white haze of rapture, he could have sworn he heard her say his name.

***

Rose didn’t remember climbing off of him, turning over and blowing out the candle, or being gently pulled against his chest, as he breathed a goodnight.

But she awoke inside a warm embrace, with a strong hard body behind her, and one hand cupping her breast, while the other was beneath her arm.

Surely his limb had gone to sleep under her weight?

She bit back a laugh at the thought, and then sobered quickly.

The sun had not yet risen, but her body knew the time. His own was almost up.

“John?”

She spoke softly, and felt him stir almost at once.

“Mmm…what is it?”

“You need to go.”

The arms around her tightened for a moment, before loosening completely as he sat up and remembered his surroundings.

“Oh my god.”

“Yes. I’m sorry but you cannot stay till sunrise.”

His head had fallen into his hands, and she smiled at his mussed hair.

“It’s okay. I’m sure you forgot when Madam told you that.”

“No, no it’s not that.”

Rose frowned, fighting the urge to touch his face, to smooth the frown lines above his sad blue eyes and to stroke back the sleep and sex tousled curls around his cheeks.

“What’s wrong?”

“Your boss, your madam said something about trouble. I didn’t quite understand it because I was still a bit…”

“Drunk out of your mind?”

Rose smiled and slipped out from under the covers, beginning to gather his clothing for him, since he was clearly unable to multitask.

Silence reigned until she straightened up, and realized he’d been distracted, staring at her, and she laughed.

“Trouble like what?”

He shook himself, and his eyes returned to her face,

“I don’t know. But I just have this feeling. I’ve heard so much about the Master…what if he’s on his way in town?”

Rose felt the carpet under her bare feet, and she felt the clothes in her arms, but all else vanished from import.

The Master.

Years and months of work, and the risk of returning to Gallifrey. All because of one madman, one outlaw, and one murderer.

She swallowed and fought to maintain her composure. To Belle, that name meant nothing. To her, it was everything.

“Belle? Are you alright?”

She blinked, and was startled to find John only a few steps away from her, hands outstretched, palm up, as if approaching a wild animal.

Her facial muscles twisted into a smile,

“Of course. I was just wondering if that’s a real name or a nickname.”

She giggled, hoping it would sell her words, and thankfully, it did.

John lifted one hand to card it through his hair, and her heart twinged for an instant.

“It’s a nickname of course. His real name is Harold Saxon. And he’s a deadly man. No lawman that’s gone up against him has ever lived. They say he enjoys killing good men. If he ever came here, I don’t know what I’d do.”

Rose was torn between flinging herself into his arms and warning him away from the Master. The one thing she is grateful for is his name. She never knew the Master’s name.

Knowledge is power, as much as power is power, and she will do what she must.

Eventually she doesn’t see any point to putting it off, so she steps towards him, and he pulls her into his embrace.

He smelled like dust and sweat before she got him undressed, and now he smells like her, and like sex. It’s a heady tonic.

“You have to go.”

A nod was his reply.

But she wasn’t about to push him off of her. For as long as he was holding her, she was just Belle, and had no vendetta to seek, no rage to quench.

As soon as he has gone, and she’s left alone to her thoughts, her eyes lock onto her carpet bag and never leave. If the Master is anywhere near Paradise, he won’t leave it alive.

Rose owes her old name and old life and dead family that much.

When is a man most vulnerable?

In between the legs of a whore.


	8. Chapter 8

In with a bang, out with a whimper.

There was a joke to be made there, but Rose couldn’t see it. Nothing was funny when one’s hands were red with blood, and there was a literal smoking gun at one’s feet.

Not that it was _her_ blood of course.

She had just gone down to see that John had left safely, and not been molested for more money when he was sober, and nearly walked smack into Harriet leading someone up the stairs.

 

Clad only in the blue silk wrapper she’d thrown on, the shade of which did faintly remind her of John’s eyes, she stepped back and blinked at her Madam, who was arm in arm with a man who smelled faintly of gun smoke and had hair the unnatural shade of corn silk.

Cruel eyes smiled at her, and a mouth that probably ate meat raw greeted her.

“Belle, this is the Master. He’s in town for a brief stay, and I thought you could take care of him.”

Belle was about to protest that she needed time between clients, when she realized how many hours had actually passed since John had left.

She had laid in bed half the morning thinking, and by the time she had really dressed and left her room, it was high noon. Fitting, she thought.

She extended a hand, and the Master took it, planting a soft kiss on her palm that made her feel like ripping her own skin off.

A patented smile fell into place, and Madam left them alone. Off she went, to tend to the rest of his hoard no doubt.

She could only pray they were under orders not to kill anyone in the Paradise.

The girls don’t know a thing about them, most likely, for they don’t bother reading the town gossip rag, and none of them leave the brothel long enough to hear any.

“Come with me.”

Her voice was steady as a rock, even if her heartbeat was thundering in her ear, and surely he could hear it?

“Indeed.”

The Master gave in reply, following her back up the stairs.

Her mind raced. Was the gun put back in place? Was it fully loaded?

How did she look? She must not resemble her old self in any way, or all will be lost.

“Do you know who I am?”

He asked her, once the door had been closed, locked, and for once she felt more trapped, than like the predator.

“Not really, no.”

She put on a demure smile, and sashayed towards him, biting her lip to attempt to appear coy.

He chuckled darkly, and she felt her skin crawl again. If she had to let him touch her, she might die.

But of course she must.

She must also remember even if she feels like the prey, it was he who will not leave her lair alive.

“The Master. The legendary outlaw? The sound of drums? Mean death?”

If she didn’t know better, she’d say he was pouting. The fire and fear architect reduced to a sniveling child because someone didn’t know his name.

She shook her head, and her fingers toyed with the ties of her wrapper.

“I’m sorry. Unless you’ve been here before, I don’t know you. I’m new in town.”

She grinned and stuck her tongue out a bit at him, a risk, but a worthy one. It distracted him, so much so she can see his jaw drop, and when her gaze does the same, she saw the effect she was having on him.

“Yes you are.”

He breathed out, his hands suddenly fumbling at his vest and shirt, but she moved closer,

“Let me.”

She slapped his hands lightly out of the way, and began to undress him in earnest. Though her nimble fingers and breathy sighs make him think she loves it and wants it, inside she is still shivering and wishing she could snap his neck right then and there. His arms snake around her, pulling her in, halting her movements as he grinds himself against her.

She was naked beneath the wrapper and he felt it, evidenced by the groan that escaped from his mouth.

“Get the show on the road…”

She licked her lips,

“Belle.”

It was a whisper in his ear, and she felt him shiver against her.

“Yes. That’s right.”

***

John made it back to the station just in time to spot the missive awaiting him on his desk. He tore it open and nearly ripped the letter in half in his haste to open it. Important news only comes by letter. He’s too broke for any unnecessary expensive, and his deputies know that.

“Master spotted crossing border. Stop. Posse guarding railroad. Stop. You’re on your own sheriff. Stop.”

The blood drained from his face, and he slumped into his chair, hands twitching for anything, anything at all to keep him upright.

The whiskey bottle may have been empty, but his pistol was anything but.

Or was it?

He un-holstered his gun and hefted it in his palm. It was too light. He flicked it open and groaned. The chamber was empty and the six shots were staring at him like Swiss cheese.

Somehow he emptied his gun and forgot to reload it. How long had he been carrying around an unloaded weapon?

The thundering sound of hoof beats drew him out of his shocked reverie, and he looked out to the street to see a black horse ride past, carrying a man with shocking light hair, and a blood red saddle.

He gulped, and slid down from his chair to hide a bit behind the desk.

It was the Master. He was unmistakable.

He was riding towards the Paradise.

All of John’s nerve endings seemed to alight.

Belle was in there.

She was in danger.

But he couldn’t go up against the Master alone.

His deputies were trapped outside Gallifrey.

The drawer that held the empty whiskey bottle only mocked him, and so he pulled it out, throwing it aside, and relishing the shatter of the glass against concrete.

He might as well run away, for all the luck he would have. Run for the canyon, for the rails were not safe. The mines were probably being guarded as well.

Hell, the Master was probably behind all the cattle rustling and gold digging robberies.

His breathing began to escalate, and he slunk back down further behind his desk, attempting to keep himself calm.

It wouldn’t do any good for the Sheriff of Gallifrey to enter a nervous breakdown and be completely useless.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: gun violence and mentions of rape in this chapter.  
> the main reason i tagged it as such. i wasn't sure how triggering or offensive it could be. but this is the Master after all. he's not a nice guy.

Harold Saxon, or as he preferred to be addressed those days, The Master, entered into the Paradise with low expectations, and he had been pleasantly surprised.

At least, until he met Belle. Then he was prepared to be truly _pleasant_ ly surprised.

“Hello.”

Her hand felt like silk beneath his coarse and calloused fingers, and he knew he couldn’t wait to taste her. He didn’t care what her Madam said. He was the Master. He made his own rules. If the old bitch didn’t like it, she’d be the first to die, before the rest of the whole town.

He had been to Gallifrey before, and his only regret had been to leave it standing. If he hadn’t, all that gold wouldn’t have been found, and it would have died well and proper. But the gold had brought him back and now gave him this, so he supposed he couldn’t be too annoyed.

He’d heard rumors of a new Sheriff, and he’d laughed at them. As if any man would dare try to arrest him. He would burn them alive.

His men were staying on the outskirts until he called, flanked around the gold mines and stationed by the rails.

The trap was set, and all he wanted to do now was enjoy the cheese, before the next unsuspecting fool came along to spring the trap.

He followed the girl upstairs, drinking in the features that he could see. Her long hair would look quite lovely splayed out on the bed while he fucked her, and he’d be gentleman enough to hold it back while she sucked him off.

He grinned, anticipation flooding through him, and staving off the bloodlust, if only for as long as it would take.

Her lips were wide, and pouty and pink, and begging to have his cock shoved between them. Well, after he tasted them a bit.

When she offered to undress him, how could he say no?

His hands lifted to stroke her cheek, and he rubbed a strand of her hair between his thumb and forefinger, licking his lips as he watched her concentrating on her task.

“Lovely. You smell like roses and fresh rainfall. How do you manage that in the desert?”

Maybe she wasn’t used to compliments, or maybe she hadn’t gotten much sleep, but he swore that she flinched away from his touch before relaxing again. He wasn’t even being threatening yet.

She swallowed and looked back up at him, eyes like whiskey met his full on with enough lust to cause him to breathe harder.

“You’re in Paradise, don’t you remember? Anything is possible.”

She’d managed to undo his shirt and vest and start on his trouser fastenings in the time it had taken him to look away from her face, and he couldn’t hold on any longer. He needed to taste her.

His hand tightened around her cheek and his other arm came around her waist, pulling her flush to him, and he thrust against her once, twice, before forcing her head towards his own.

She didn’t resist, even when he kissed her and took that plump bottom lip between his teeth hard enough to draw blood.

She put a hand on his shoulder, but it wasn’t to push him away, it was to shove back his shirt.

He grinned against her lips, and shoved his hips against hers again,

“You like that?”

Her nipples were pebbling beneath the thin silk that hid her body from him, and he decided he was done waiting. His hand slid down from her face to fumble with the ties, before ripping them to shreds, and shucking the wrapper off like the husk from a corncob.

Except beneath that husk was pale flesh that had to be aching for his touch.

Her breasts weren’t very big; barely a handful, but they were enough. He took one and squeezed it, and maybe it was a bit too rough, but she didn’t breathe a word. His other hand helped her finish undressing himself.

He walked backward towards her bed, dragging her with him most of the way, and then she’d leapt on the sheets, beckoned him with a finger, and he was so hard he might just decide to hold her down and come on her bare back.

But there was that mouth to try out.

She moved to kneel upon the bed, questioning him without a word and he found himself grinning in reply,

“Down.”

He twirled a finger at her, and she obediently shifted, so that she was lying on the bed, her hair splayed out beneath her head, which was now at just the right height.

Cock in hand, he stroked over the painfully hard flesh, before his other hand touched her face, thumb and forefinger opening her mouth, slowly enough so she could get the message, and then he slide himself inside.

She was worth every ounce of gold; her throat took him in all the way, and he felt breathless, trying to fight the urge to come right then, as her tongue slid around the underside of him, he began thrusting into her mouth without a second thought.

She had to be breathing through her nose, because she didn’t even choke.

He fisted his hands at his sides to prevent grabbing her head and forcing her to move faster, he didn’t want to hurt her, not yet.

He pulled out of her mouth, reluctantly, and even she seemed bereft, she let out a small whimper, but he took himself in hand and with a couple strokes he’s coming on her chest, on those perfectly sized breasts of hers.

He heard her sigh. Clearly it was not her first time not having to swallow.

“Now sit up.”

She whipped a cloth from nowhere and wiped herself off before shifting back up to kneel before him again.

This time she was faced away from him and he felt like he could sing.

“Belle?”

She turned her head to look back at him with a grin that rivaled his own,

“Yes Master?”

“Oh I love hearing you say my name. I want you to take hold of the head board. I’m going to fuck you now.”

She eyed his returning erection and nodded, moving up to do as he commanded.

He got on the bed right behind her, and before he could thrust inside her, stroked up her sides, relishing when she shivered.

“Hold on.”

***

Rose was gritting her teeth and mentally counting back up to one hundred when the Master slid home inside her. He was surprisingly smaller than John, and not in a laughable manner. It was the only reason she’d been able to put up with his forcing himself down her throat.

She should have known he’d want to drag things out. Her eyes flitted over to the bedside table, where the lamp sat, burning down to the final inch of wax, and the closed drawer, where her gun lay in wait.

Almost time.

Only a few more minutes to go.

The Master grunted behind her, and his hand shot out of nowhere to grab her hair, pulling her back and up so that he could plant a kiss on her neck, just below her ear.

The urge to scream was incredible, but she made no sound other than a contented sigh. His fingers twisted in her hair, and he reached around with his other hand to tweak at her nipple as he continued to pound into her.

“You’re perfect. You’re so tight and wet. You’re almost like my first.”

She smiled tightly,

“You had a virgin your first time too?”

He chuckled, and the sound sent chills down her spine,

“No. I had a boy my first time. Oh but he wasn’t quiet like you. He never stopped crying. That’s why it was so wet. He bled all over the place.”

Rose felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, and she prayed he wouldn’t notice.

He didn’t seem to, and his hand left her breast to move down and pinch her clit, and a gasp escaped her.

“Yes. But you girls are so much more fun to fuck. So soft and warm, and so responsive.”

She tightened her inner muscles around him, beginning her pretended climax, and he groaned at the feeling.

“I’m so close, but I want to see your face when you come, pretty Belle.”

She swallowed thickly, and he pulled out, leaving her kneeling for only a moment, before his arms shifted her, pushing her down so that he was looming over her.

“Like this?”

She purred, batting her lashes at him, and he grinned,

“Exactly.”  


He was back inside her in a heartbeat, and she watched his face carefully as he began up his steady rhythm again. It was like he’d said, a drumbeat, a four beat pattern.

It was not going to bring her off in the near century, so she started up her faux climax act again. His eyes fell closed, and his mouth gaped unattractively as he fisted the pillow beneath her head, and she was simply grateful he’d not touched her hair again.

“Tell me, what’s it feel like?”

She whispered to him, in a soothing voice.

He panted a reply,

“What?”

“Killing someone.”

He groaned, and she clenched her muscles around him,

“It’s like being born, like drinking ice cold spring water. It refreshes and reinvigorates one.”

Rose licked her lips, and her right hand shot out past him, while her left gripped his shoulders, nails raking down his back.

That was enough for him, and his movements became erratic as he spilled himself inside her.

Her right hand tightened on the cool kiss of metal, and she smiled, an honest true one.

“Like this?”

His eyes opened lazily, and he shoved himself up onto his elbows, looking at her with an amused expression,

“No. It’s nothing like sex I’m afraid, as delightful as that can be.”

Rose giggled,

“I didn’t mean that. I meant this.”

She brought her hand up and around to press the barrel to his temple and she relished the way his eyes widened before he retreated at once, his hands lifted.

“What are you doing you crazy whore?”

Rose beamed at him; giddy with the power she felt coursing through her. The Master, trapped.

Her legs were still wrapped around him, and she tightened them, forcing him to look at her, or more aptly to focus on the gun in her hand.

“I’m getting my revenge, bringing justice. All that rot. Say goodbye.”

He might have been about to try and stop her, and his hands certainly took on a mind of their own, reaching for her throat, but she’d already pulled the trigger.

The bullet punched a hole in his chest, at such close range, certainly stopping his heart immediately, and his hands went still against her neck. He fell forward in a slow arc, smothering her with his body, as his blood began to seep into her skin.

She felt sick, and worse than when he’d been touching her of his own will. A swift push sent the body to the floor and she threw the gun away promptly.

Her hands and chest were covered in red, and when she crawled out of the bed, she saw blood seeping into the carpet. ‘Good thing it was already dark navy.’ She thought.

Now she needed to only wait.

Surely Madam would have heard the sound of a gunshot.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Final Chapter, Hope you all enjoyed this little ficlet!

John had decided he didn’t care if he died as long as it meant saving Belle and was halfway across the street, down the alleyway, and almost to the side door of the Paradise when he heard the muffled sound of a gunshot.

He didn’t wait for the door to be opened; he kicked it in, and shoved past the bewildered kitchen staff, taking the stairs two at a time, until he stopped outside Belle’s door.

He was breathing hard, and he’d had a hand tight around his gun since he’d left the pile of broken glass across from his desk behind.

“Belle?”

He spoke softly, and before another thought could cross his mind, there were two more people on either side of him.

The Madam, who looked at him once before shrugging, and then a red haired girl with green eyes that dared him to question her.

The Madam held up a key, and shoved it into the lock with little caution, throwing open the door wide to reveal the room.

John raced forwards, prepared to beat the living daylights out of the Master, only to find his dead body lying unceremoniously beside Belle’s bed, while Belle herself was sitting beside it, crying and naked in a pool of the Master’s blood.

Well, he hoped it was not her blood.

“Are you alright?”

“What happened?”

“Did he break one of your rules?”

The first query came from John, the second from the red haired girl, and the third and most curious escaped the Madam.

Belle looked up, her tear streaked face also smudged with red,

“No.”

John wasn’t sure what that was an answer to, and he looked again at the Master’s body, though it disgusted him to. He was naked, and face down, so clearly the wound had to be on his front. The discarded gun was further away from both of them, and John wasn’t about to touch it without protection.

“Am I under arrest?”

Belle finally asked him, and John swallowed before shaking his head.

“Of course not. You know the reward for killing the Master? Or bringing him in alive?”

The Madam coughed and drew his attention,

“What about his gang?”

The red haired girl nodded,

“Yeah, what happens when they come looking for him?”

John smiled grimly.

“They followed his orders. Without their leader, they’ll be thrown into chaos. My deputies will have no trouble rounding them up. I need to get a message to them. Can you help me?”

He turned to the Madam, and she nodded, looking for once less like a businesswoman and more like the mother she was old enough to be,

“For a price.”

Nope. Still a businesswoman.

John sighed,

“Belle will get the reward money, and she may do as she wishes with it. If that includes granting you some, so be it.”

Belle coughed, and got to her feet, albeit shakily.

John was on duty and as such should have averted his gaze, but he didn’t. She still looked remarkably alluring naked, even when covered in blood.

The red haired girl shed her emerald silk wrapper and put it hastily around Belle’s shoulders.

It left her in a black nightgown that left little to the imagination, but John still couldn’t take his eyes off Belle.

“I think I should mention something Sheriff. My name isn’t Belle. It’s Rose Tyler. The Master was responsible for the deaths of my family. That’s why I killed him. I didn’t really care about the money. I just wanted him dead. That’s not his gun, it’s mine.”

John’s eyes flitted over to the murder weapon briefly before being drawn back to her face like a magnet.

It explained why the Madam and the red haired girl were so shocked. Clearly they knew that name.

“Miss Tyler, I assure you, the weapon that was used has no bearings. The fact is that the Master is dead. You’re still to be lauded as a hero…err, heroine for what you’ve done.”

Belle, no, Rose, shook her head,

“I don’t want all that. I’ll take the money, sure. And whatever I’ve earned here,” she looked at the Madam at that, then back to him, “Then I’m going to go. Back to where I came from maybe. But I can’t stay here.”

John felt as if the floor had dropped out from under him.

“You want to leave? You’ve only been here a week.”

Rose nodded,

“The next train out of here, as soon as I can. There are too many bad memories in this place. Surely you can understand that Sheriff?”

She looked at him, and he felt a jolt through to his very core. Somehow she knew. The Master had told her, or more likely bragged to her, and she knew.

He nodded, words failing him.

“I can’t stop you then.”

The Madam took her hand, and squeezed it gently,

“I’ll go settle up your wages.”

The red haired girl took her other hand,

“I’ll stay with you, get you cleaned up. Go on Sheriff, you best be making some calls. Sending some letters.”

Rose smiled faintly at the girl,

“Thanks Amelia. Goodbye John. I’ll see you tomorrow I’m sure.”

John knew when to retreat, and she was right. He had a lot of work to do, and not much time and opportunity to do it.

He’d left the Paradise long behind before he realized that he’d forgotten to tell Rose why he’d been there. She must have assumed he’d been sent for.

His heart clenched in his chest, and he gripped the reigns tighter in his fist.

***

Rose had her bags packed and the train ticket purchased almost before she knew what she was doing. The reward money for the capture of the Master had been obscene, and she’d almost refused it. Instead she’d divided it and given some to each of the girls at the Paradise, and of course Madam had gotten her cut. She’d been more than fair to Rose and had handed over her gold earnings without a question.

Rose fidgeted on the bench waiting at the train station, scarcely able to believe she’d just been there a week and half previous. She wasn’t looking for John. She didn’t check her watch and glance around every few minutes just to ensure he hadn’t shown up and wasn’t waving to her, begging to speak to her, wanting her to stay.

The whistle of the forthcoming train filled her with dread, and she stood up slowly, reaching to take her carpetbag in hand.

She found that she couldn’t. Her heart had taken over her completely.

One foolish tryst with a small town sheriff and she was unable to simply walk away. Perhaps there was more to it than that.

She looked around one more time, and this time, her heart leapt in her chest, for she saw a familiar white horse approaching the station.

“Rose!”

There was that voice, and then she saw him.

His hair was loose and blowing a bit as he dismounted and ran towards her. He stopped just short of pulling her into his arms and she saw how he was breathing fast.

“I thought I’d missed you! I went to the Paradise and Madam Jones told me you’d just left.”

Rose smiled, and felt her wretched eyes beginning to sting,

“I was. I mean, my train is here now. But so are you.”

John nodded, and the blue depths of his gaze had her trapped as if she’d been locked up in his jail.

“I couldn’t let you go without saying goodbye, really saying it. I know you don’t like it, but I wondered if I could ask you for something.”

Rose shrugged,

“Sure. Don’t tell me you need money though…”

She grinned and stuck out her tongue at him, but her heart wasn’t in it. It was screaming at her to tell him to come with her.

“I wondered if I might, if I could, kiss you?”

He’d stepped closer while she’d been frantically trying to keep from crying, and at that, the floodgates were opened.

“Yes. Yes of course.”

She blinked, and two tears fell as he took the final step, pulling her into his arms, and leaning in to capture her lips with his own.

The kiss was nothing like the one the Master had stolen, and it wiped all others before she’d taken up the work she’d done away.

There might have been half a dozen trains that came and went while they kissed, but Rose didn’t care. John’s arms cradled her, and held her like she was something precious, and never tried to take control away.

She was shaking when he pulled back to look at her, his hand moving from the side of her face to her cheek, brushing away her tears.

“Does this mean you’ll want to braid my hair next?”

She hiccuped, and he laughed,

“If you’d let me. But Rose, no. What I want is for you to be happy. If you can’t find it here, then I want you to find it where you’re going.”

“Why can’t you come with me?”

There. She’d done it. She’d said it.

Millions of things reflected in his eyes at her, including her own uncertainty, but eventually all she could see was what she knew to be love.

“My lovely Rose, I’d follow you to the ends of the earth. Nowhere is home to me, but at your side.”

She frowned at him, and she was prepared to ask him what he meant by that, if he really meant what she thought, but he moved in to kiss her again, and she decided she didn’t care.

Her arms wound around his neck and she lifted off her heels to press against him.

The train whistle sounded again, and this time, when she boarded, she didn’t look back. She had his hand holding hers tightly, and his returned smile was a gift all its own.

***

**END**


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